


So what should I do, just lay next to you (as though I'm unaffected)?

by crowleyscuddlebuddy



Series: "It's all very West Side Story" [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Crowley's pov, Cuddling, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyscuddlebuddy/pseuds/crowleyscuddlebuddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley's pov of his relationship with Castiel from "Abandon all Hope" to "Survival of the Fittest". This fic encompasses the events of "Guardian Demon" and "It’s in the water baby, it’s between you and me". You won't have any issues understanding this story if you didn't read those, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So what should I do, just lay next to you (as though I'm unaffected)?

Crowley was not naive. He was a demon, for Pete’s sake. Of course, he wasn’t naïve. If there was a weakness he’d admit to possessing, it would be being hopeful. Not that he would ever truly admit it to anyone and let said person remain living. But back when he decided to approach Castiel in the aftermath of the Apocalypse That Wasn’t he had been hopeful. He’d honestly expected everything would work out in the end.

So, maybe he had been the slightest bit naïve because when things reached their seemingly inevitable bloody end-- one he’d honestly had not seen it coming-- it had hit him…hard.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

It all started in the backyard of what’s-her-name, the random woman Dean Winchester had shacked up with. Crowley admited to feeling a touch of whiplash at being informed of the last surviving Winchester’s destination. Not once he heard her being mentioned at the times he hung around Bobby Singer’s kitchen or joined the Hardy Boys in trying to stop the world from ending. Not even his “little birds” seemed to be able to make heads or tails of who the woman was or what was her connection to Dean Winchester.

They’d apparently had had a one stand over a decade ago but since then there were no accounts of them ever being together again or anything that would explain the insta-family Dean found himself with. There was a kid but his sources told him he was definitely not Dean’s and he only served to make that strange puzzle even more confusing. Had Dean Winchesters really located the only single mother on the planet desperately pathetic enough to open her door to him as thought he was a harmless mutt who only needed a good scrub and a meal?

Well, whatever bullshit Dean had fed her, Crowley was glad it worked because with him out of the picture, the air had the sweet smell of opportunity.  As he stood not very far away from Dean at all-- ranking leaves of all things!—with the Angel of Thursday halfway between the them, Crowley knew he had come to the right place.

Castiel’s back was to him and he had that eternal tragic air about him that made those slim trench coat covered shoulders seem heavy even as he stood tall, playing his favored role: the guardian angel to the hunter. Crowley knew what weighted on him, of course. There was always going to be a psychopath looking to destroy the world, but he had to give this one to Heaven: those feathered asshats really weren’t wasting any time. Rumors of Raphael’s plan to get the show back on the road started being heard as soon as Michael and Lucifer were locked inside the cage.

Crowley had succeeded on his plan to take advantage of the window of time a chaotic leaderless Hell offered and had stepped up to the plate as the New King of Hell. Of course, his position was unstable, to say the least, and the last thing he needed was more chaos on top of it. As Dean Winchester remained oblivious to the uncertain state of the rest of the world, Castiel had flown back to Heaven to face those problems head on and get a big reality check.

It didn’t take long talking to the angel for Crowley to realize that Castiel felt they were all, essentially, screwed. Not that Crowley could blame him since that had been his first reaction as well but by now he had identified a solution to his problems, to Castiel’s problems, to everyone’s problems. First, he needed a partner. Someone whose association with would give stability to his position in Hell. The reports about Raphael’s agenda had been immediately followed by angels swooning over “God’s favorite”. Crowley wasn’t too proud to admit he’d quickly jumped on the bandwagon.

It was brilliant, really.

Someone actually willing to stand up and fight back was half the battle when it came to these sort of things and Crowley was sure he knew Castiel well enough that he’d never abide to a rabid archangel ruining all the work his boys had done to cleaning up that mess. Sure, he didn’t have the power to actually follow through with a rebellion, at this point, nor his popularity as a “hero of the masses” was solidified enough to lend Crowley any credibility, _yet_ , if he decided to indeed lend Cas his support.

Still, the raw material was all there. More than, even.

Lucifer had been a petulant child with Daddy issues and still managed to drag down a third of heaven with him. Imagine someone actually willing to teach a better way of life to those poor suckers. Someone who understood the power of rising beyond the lot given to you and building something better for yourself.

There were more reasons why Castiel was perfect for the job.

***

Crowley had recognized a lot of himself in the angel, very early on their tentative association. When he had been dropping rumors, hints and all sorts of innuendos about his location hoping the Winchester boys would be smart enough to pick up on them. They hadn’t been. But their angel had.

Sooner than he’d anticipated, he’d noticed an interesting creature that not only had personally managed to track him down but was following Crowley around for he wasn’t exactly sure how long. It had been unnerving. Crowley knew his story, of course. Everyone did. The angel who rebelled for humanity.

Then, Crowley had told himself he was only working to make the ruse more realistic so he tested his tracker, teleporting all over the earth as he went about his weekly routine. It became quickly clear that while tact wasn’t exactly the heavenly creature’s forte, he was a competent locator.

It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon in Paris when Crowley finally got a good look at him. A good look, indeed. Those Winchester brothers were as known for their deadliness as they were known for their prettiness, still, Crowley hadn’t expected their angel to be such a showstopper. He had had encounters with their kind before and while demons favored attractiveness in their hosts, almost all angels seemingly had a weak spot for ordinary and middle aged.

To each his own, of course, but it made this surprise all the more sweet. And sweet Castiel was, all over, as he sat on park bench, a few yards away from where Crowley was dispensing orders to a minion. He wore the usual ill-fitting corporate drone uniform but Crowley could make his blue eyes, a rich tone glistening on the sunset, from all the way on the other side of the park. Crowley had realized he had stretched this game of cat and mouse long enough when he purposely started to pick outdoor/nature oriented venues to conduct his business. As lovely as the angel looked about as relaxed as he seemed to get with a backdrop of flowers or mountains, it had been time to cut this shot. They had a crazy psychopath fallen archangel to kill.

Crowley had purposely chosen urban concrete as their next settling. Hoping, peharps, the angel would look less enticing then, but, no luck there.

The King of the Crossroads had avoided answering deals as soon as he made he was being followed, but he decided he needed to end their game in a memorable way. He took the place of another crosswords demon as the one to seal the deal with one Mr. Pendleton and this time Crowley took a perverse pleasure in the tiresome activity, knowing he had an audience. And who was the audience.

After making sure to make kissing a horrid old fart look as good as it could, the demon went straight to one of his sigil protected safe houses and waited for Castiel to call on his boys.

When the colt failed to do its job, Crowley went underground and his attention was focused on surviving Lucifer’s scouts. A torched house, a dead tailor and numerous attempts on his life later, he was back with the underwear models which appeared to be extra broody. Swell, then. He wasn’t alone with a wrecked life because of that bitch Lucifer.It was relatively easy to get the older Winchester to believe he hadn’t set them up, all things considering, even though the Moose put up a fight.

 

After all that time wasted with that chump Brady and locating Pestilence, they finally scored one for the home team. Or Castiel did, anyway. Swooping in, looking worse for wear, sure, but still managing to withstand Pestilence’s influence enough so he could nick the ringer.   Efficient, that one, to the very end. Crowley could respect that. It was hard to find dependable people, those days.

They still had Death to worry about and that was about the time Crowley decided he could kill two birds with the same stone and get Death’s location along with some much needed insurance given the kind of folk he was running around with. Who’s to say the next time a plan failed those knuckleheads wouldn’t send him straight to Lucifer’s lap just out of spite? Bobby Singer obliged…after some negotiations and Crowley was happy to present Team Free Will with the evidence of their deal. It seemed fitting that this was the one other occasion he found himself in the same room with the angel.

Even so, he hoped Castiel witnessing him kissing middle aged man wouldn’t become a theme of their future interactions. Future interactions? What a funny thought.

Part of him expected Castiel to protest his presence using the less than imaginative adjectives his kind were inclined to use towards Crowley’s kind but apart from twitching a bit where he was perched at, when Crowley appeared, he said nothing. As for Crowley, even if the angel looked somewhat dimmer than he remembered, he couldn’t find in himself to make a crack at him.

As those boys teased the older hunter, Crowley took the opportunity to look. He’d interacted with angels before plenty; such a snobbish, smug, self-righteous lot. But he’d never seen an angel fall before. He could make out the invisible feathers that pooled at Cas’ feet. The halo that became hazier and hazier. Those wings that looked like they ached. The constant pain, the humiliation and the overall dignity with Castiel held himself under Crowley’s examination.

Crowley could actually taste his hunger, his lust, his loneliness, his love, so much love… he was such a stunning mess. Forever changed from one second to the next, falling through the cracks while those meatheads had their noses firmly stuffed in their navels. Crowley lowered his eyes for the first time in centuries. Reverent.  He did always have a week spot for tragedies.

***

So, peharps, things had started a lot sooner than their meeting in the Braeden’s yard, after all.

***

It was easy to get Castiel to hear him out. Crowley doubted it all could be chalked up to desperation. They had already fought together for a common goal and succeeded. The little protestations Cas mustered were empty and the interest in his bright blue eyes was clear. This wasn’t one sided. Good.

Getting him to leave Dean behind was a thrill in itself and Crowley immediately knew the perfect place to make his pitch. He felt eager when they landed in Hell. Eager to show Castiel what had been his first order of business: Hell’s new design. He had already decided Castiel was the perfect candidate to rule beside him. Now he had to sell that idea to the angel himself.

Said angel kept his cards close his chest, though, and ushered Crowley to not waste his time.  He’d planned a little more foreplay but he could settle for a quickie if that’s the way Castiel rolled. Either way, this was going smoother than Crowley predicted. Castiel made the right questions and it was a matter of walking him through his thought process, at this point. A Civil War in heaven was inevitable and Cas had to step up for his role in it for the sake of them all. Finding Purgatory and using the souls there as a power source was the way to assure their side would be the winning one and another Apocalypse would be prevented.

It was an elegant plan, if Crowley could say so, himself.

The souls would also help Crowley’s position in Hell while they sorted out the mess in heaven. Once Cas was established as the new sheriff, an alliance between the new Devil and the new God would be undefeatable and they would be able to rule together and live happily ever after.

Or whatever.

The ego stroking was deliberate, of course. He hadn’t had to spend much time around Team Free Will to know that the angel was treated nowhere near with the respect he deserved. So Crowley thought a praise here and there would go along way. He did wonder if he was laying it a bit thick with the “God chose you to save us” bit but the demon surprised himself with the realization that the flowerly words that fell from his lips tasted sincere.

And if the penetrating look Castiel gave him meant anything was that he knew it too, which was why he bought it.

***

The truth was, regardless if no one else believed it, Crowley had hoped everything would work out. Hell, he had really believed the plan would work and all would be well. Yes, he had known there was a possibility of the souls reacting in a wonky way. He and Castiel discussed the risks at length. Dealing with that kind of power would like putting your hand on a nuclear reactor. They’d have to be careful but it could be done.

He definitely didn’t consider those souls would go as far as to change Castiel into what he would eventually become. So, maybe Castiel wasn’t the only one with pride issues, but the point was Crowley’s intentions had been good. Well, good-ish.

He had even been willing to bring the lone Hardy Boy in on it, on a “need to know” basis, of course. Cas had vetoed it, though, and he had said fine so there was that. In retrospect, Crowley knows now Dean Winchester’s complete absence was what allowed them to get as far as they did. And he meant that in very possible way.

He knows that because as soon as Dean Winchesters was back in the picture everything went to shit. Until then, however, Cas and Crowley had a whole year to themselves.

***

From Hell, Crowley and Cas headed to his favorite mansion: the one located in the outskirts of London. With a snap of his fingers, he altered the sigils at the entrance, creating a loophole for Castiel. He had meant it when he said he was serious about this scheme and loaning the angel 50.000 souls from the pit was just the beginning of what he would do to prove that.

He just hoped Castiel wouldn’t back down and make Crowley regret making the offer at all.

First things first, thought-- they had a deal to seal. At his den, humming quietly to himself, Crowley procured some champagne. When he turned to look back at Cas, he was met with a cautious look. The angel lowered his eyelashes, then, to stare at the fireplace, his hands fidgeting delicately.

Crowley bit back a smile.

He poured them both some of the champagne and watched, with amusement, as Castiel drowned the whole glass in one go. Crowley, on the other hand, took his time sipping his, eyes trained on Castiel until the air between them felt thick with expectation and Cas’ chest started to rise more rapidly.

“Are we going to get on with this any time soon? I have things to attend to.” Castiel said, looking every each way but Crowley. He looked grumpy and flustered and the demon thought that was the loveliest combination.

Crowley raised his eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Get on with what, Castiel?”

The angel emitted a sound similar to a snarl. “Are we going to seal our deal, Crowley?”

The demon rested his empty champagne glass on his desk and touched two fingers to his lips, “My, my, if I had known you were so eager--”

He wasn’t allowed to finish his sentence. Castiel crossed the distance between them, caught Crowley by his lapels and slammed him against a bookcase, knocking down a few books and Crowley's breath.

“Don’t play games with me.” Castiel whispered hotly in his ear. “You’ve made me a business proposition and I accepted it. Now. Get. On. With. It.”

Two things.

One: if he had thought he’d enjoy this when the angel had been doing the shy act, now, he definitely knew this was going to be one to remember. Two: Crowley had planned to take this upstairs. After this little display, the entire concept completely flew out of his mind. Crowley pressed his palm against the angel’s chest and, in the next moment, he had him laid on his back, on his deck.

He held Castiel’s wrists above his head and leaned down to kiss him deeply. Satisfied, for the moment, Crowley freed his wrists in order to get him rid of that horrid overcoat. Cas was staring at him with heavy leaded eyes, mouth shinny and stained red. His eyebrows furrowed when Crowley created space between them but he allowed the demon to manhandle him as he wished. The suit jacket and the tie followed next and as he reached the plain white shirt, Cas’ hands found the buttons before Crowley and he undid them himself. Crowley licked his lips as took in the picture before him.

Not for long, though. Castiel curled his foot behind Crowley’s knee and he fell on top of the angel, again.

“You’re too slow.” Castiel bitched looking like a very ruffled and very annoyed cat.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and slid his hand all the way from Cas’ stomach, up his chest and threaded his fingers through his thick dark hair.

“And you’re too fucking impatient, sweetheart.” He hissed, pulling at the thick, sweet smelling hair hard, baring the angel’s throat to his teeth.

A moan escaped Castiel lips at his roughness and Crowley’s irritation was forgotten momentarily as he was brought back to what they were working up to do. He kissed and bit down on what seems like miles and miles of smooth, perfect skin until he found a strange, faint scaring right across the angel’s chest that gave him pause. Crowley traced the faint white lines with his tongue as he unbuckled Cas’ belt. He looked up to inquire what that was from and was met with a stormy expression.

“Don’t.”

Fair enough. A man was entitled to his secrets.

He made quick work of the belt after that and of the vessel’s sensible pants. Crowley felt his mouth water at the sight that was expecting him. He reached down to stroke the wet, silky smooth erection. To Crowley's delighted surprise, the angel was entirely hard and he bit on his own knuckles to muffle the whimper that Crowley’s touch wanted to bring out.

Belatedly, Crowley realized he was still almost completely dressed. He considered getting rid of his clothes using his powers, but ultimately decided against it. Castiel was impatient enough for both of them. The demon quickly realized he had made right call when Cas’ eyes widened at the sight of the protective tattoos that covered the entire expanse of Crowley’s shoulders and chest. 

Crowley, then, knelt on the floor and, in one smooth movement, took the angel’s cock in his mouth. Castiel’s thighs convulsed and Crowley stroked them soothingly. He reached underneath him and caressed that gorgeous ass. He slowly pressed finger inside Cas and was barely knuckle deep when the angel gave a broken moan before flooding Crowley’s mouth with his come. Chuckling softly, Crowley released Castiel’s cock a licked down his balls gently, his perineum and all around the delicate skin where his finger was still buried in.

He was far tighter than anyone Crowley remembered being with and so deliciously sensitive. A thought was starting form in his head which he put aside, for now. When he managed to work three fingers inside, Crowley had to hold on the base of the angel’s cock, completely hard again. It was around this time, he heard a low growl which made him look up. Castiel looked positively murderous. And goddamn fucking gorgeous. But Crowley decided the smartest thing would be to focus on the first part.

“Problem, darling?”

“Don’t call me that.” The angel snarled, sending a chill down Crowley’s spine and jolt through his cock.

“Oh? What should I call you? Love? Sweetheart? Kitten?” Crowley punctuated each pet name with a deep thrust of his fingers until those pretty blue eyes blurred again. “Don’t you know? You have to use this, otherwise it gets tight. And impatient little angels don’t match with tight little holes.”

“You’re an ass,” Castiel gasped when Crowley unexpectedly pulled out his fingers from his incredible heat.

“No, I’ll be in your ass, ducky. There’s a difference.” Crowley leaned over the angel and put up with being glared while he wrapped one of Cas’ thighs around his waist. He felt fingertips curiously tracing the sigils on his torso as he started to press in, “Don’t come. Don’t. Come.”

If it was even possible, the glare intensified. “I don’t intend to.” Cas panted, looking pink with desire.

Their faces were very close and when Crowley slid as far he could go, the angel turned his face sharply to the side, trembling all over, breaking their heated gaze first. Crowley pressed his forehead on the table beside Cas’ head and worked on not completely ruining this. It wasn’t any sloppy fuck that created a deal between a monarch of hell and someone, especially if that someone was an angel. Crowley usually had no problem in remaining focused and a level of distance. But this deal in particular was proving to be a challenge more and more. Especially as it had become painfully than obvious that…

“You’ve never let anyone else do this to you, have you?” Crowley whispered huskly as he allowed himself relax for a minute or two. He caught Cas’ face and held it in place when he made to turn away, looking embarrassed and slightly terrified, “No, not this time.”

Crowley held his gaze as he picked up his tempo, thrusting deep and steady for several minutes, until Cas was the one to give in, again, eyes rolling at the back of his head and soft, broken little sounds escaping from deep his throat, hips rising to meet Crowley’s in needy, little jerks.

Crowley slowed down again, for both himself and the angel, “Truce?” he whispered, against the side of the angel’s face. 

After a second of hesitation, Cas nodded in response. Crowley raised one of the angel’s thighs that rested on his waist at the same time as he pressed his knees at the desk using it as pushing point to ride the angel as deep and fast as he liked. Their mouths found each other’s again on a violent clash. Crowley growled at the feel of Cas’ fingers digging into his back and his strong legs squeezing him for all his worth, pulling him impossibly close to meet his counterthrusts. Crowley slid his hands beneath the angel’s back and reached to grab onto his shoulder blades and he felt the magic of contract sparking between them and as well inside their veins.

“Come on, sweetheart, want to feel you come—fuck—that’s right, Cas, that’s right, come on--”

They climbed together to impossible highs. Very distantly, the demon was aware the champagne bottle was the first to go, exploding in a million of pieces somewhere to their right. The lamps followed as did the glass of the windows. After the deal was sealed and they managed to recuperate some of their bearings, they’d also identified half of Crowley’s library on the carpet and the fire of the fireplace had burned through all the wood there. The only part of the den that remained standing was, ironically, the sturdy oak desk they’d been fucking on top.

Crowley gave it a couple of pats, as praise.

***

It would be a month before he saw Castiel again. To say, Crowley was been furious at the radio silence would be putting it mildly. More than that, he was furious for being furious. He’d used the last of his wits to teleport himself and the angel to his room, after that most glorious fucking, if he could say so himself. Even Crowley wasn’t as much as an asshole to kick out an angel whose cherry he had just popped.

Castiel had played nicely enough up until he got the 50.000 souls that were promised and then he was gone. No phonecall, not email, no bleedin' carrier pigeon. Nothing. Apparently, the angel had no problem in being an asshole himself. That was good to know. When he finally deemed to make an appearance, the little shit didn’t even have enough grace to let Crowley yell at him. He’d shown up looking white as ghost and Crowley ended up with an armful of bleeding angel and not in the way that would have soothed his anger.

Time to play nursemaid.

On the bright side, Cas became slightly less infuriating after that incident. He, at least, made the attempt to show up more and when he absolutely couldn’t leave heaven for one of their “dates”, like Crowley liked to call them, where he was debriefed about the situation in heaven, he’d…text. It wasn’t ideal but they were dealing with a war, after all.  Speaking of which, Crowley ought to know, Cas showing up half-dead just so he would patch him up wouldn’t be a one-time thing.

***

Not all was bloody though.

Or, more accurately, when it was just bloody enough the angels liked to do these mock-truces where they pretended to do negotiations while both sides recovered. Those periods allowed Cas to stay on Earth for up to a full month at times and the first one of those periods happened at the end of the summer when their deal had been stuck. Not one to let an opportunity go to waste, Crowley whisked Castiel away as soon as he touched ground. First, he needed to get rid of that awful overcoat. And all the rest as well.

He took the angel to his new tailor. He wasn’t as good as the last one, but the man was adequate.  Crowley shushed Cas’ inquiries and halfhearted protestations when Crowley picked a burgundy fabric for his outfit. He rounded Castiel while the tailor took his measures, barking his very especific wishes for the suit, how the sleeves were supposed to rest on Castiel’s wrists just so and how the jacket was supposed to hug his shoulders and the tailor ought to pay if there was any lose fabric on his gorgeous hips and thighs.

Crowley’s touch followed every suggestion and he thought it was a good sign that the angel was agreeable enough to it.

They did lunch, afterwards.

“We have no need for food.” Castiel observed, with a confused tilt of his head.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t take pleasure from eating it, does it, love?” Crowley motioned for him to eat the chicken he’d been pushing around the plate and Cas had obeyed.

In the afternoon, they shopped for shoes, belts and ties. It was when Castiel was doing the final fitting for his new suit that Crowley revealed what all that preparation was about: they had a gala to attend to, one of which some of the attendees they would do well to persuade to their side. Castiel’s presence was essential, given he was the face of one of the sides of the Civil War in heaven and pretty much the poster boy for Free Will, as far any influential supernatural being was concerned.

The angel’s face had immediately dropped at hearing that response and he tried to hide it by turning away from Crowley and fidgeting with his silver tie. Crowley squinted at him, baffled, at what could have brought such a drastic mood change. Cas had seemed happy enough for most of the day, almost breezy, all too willing to indulge Crowley’s affectations with minimum noise.

“It’s a work thing, then.” Castiel said eventually, shaking his head. “We’re working. Of course, I--”

Crowley climbed behind him on the slightly elevated step where Cas was being measured and circled his arms around that slim waist. Crowley reached and gently turned the angel’s chin so their eyes could meet.

“The people there, yes, they will be work.” He tucked a strand of dark hair behind Cas’ ear and brought him closer, cupping his face in his hand. Crowley didn’t want to be misunderstood again. “You’re not work.”

The sound of someone frigidly clearing their throat interrupted what might have come from the moment. It was Crowley’s new tailor staring at them in a disapproving way, over his tiny glasses. Crowley made a mental note to throw him to the dogs.

And get a new tailor.

“Crowley, I’m not good at these…things.” Castiel confessed as they crossed the threshold of the Parisian palace where the gala was being thrown.

“Not good at what, Cas?” Crowley had inquired back turning to look at him and silently marveling what a splendid picture he made, even with that do eyed panicked look.

“People, mainly.”

Crowley had laughed in response and circled a hand around the angel’s waist, leading him further in.

“You don’t need to be good at that. You have me.”

Crowley made sure to stay beside him all evening, introducing him and saving Cas from awkward pauses. The truth was it had been more a matter of confidence than skill, in Crowley’s opinion. From where he was standing the angel was a bit stiff, sure, but most seemed to find him charming, at the least, and also funny and clever as long as they bothered to stick long enough for Castiel to get past his initial hang ups.

On the way home, Crowley had reached for his hand and slowly kissed each of his fingers as Cas rested with his face leaning against the widow. That night was the first one they’d laid together since sealing their deal.

***

The Civil War in Heaven took a lot out of all of them. To quote a TV show the King of Hell happened to be very fond of: the War was mostly invisible to "lower species", but devastating to "higher" ones. During that first year, Crowley had believed the dark periods they had would be as dark as they got. However, it would soon be revealed he didn’t have the faintest clue to what was to come.

At the very least, he and Castiel seemed to take turns in falling apart. So that was something, perhaps.

There was a day in particular Crowley had been doing what certainly could be described as brooding. There was a half empty bottle of Craig nearby, his clothes were wrinkled after the long, tiresome day when he had been informed by his little birds how his position in hell wasn’t looking that much better in comparison to the situation in heaven. He’d spent the entire day personally handling the extinction of a few rather discontent factions that had begun to assemble in order to overthrow him.

 

With a faint sound of wings, Cas materialized near a bookcase and looked around for a few heartbeats as thought he was surprised to be there. His gaze eventually settled on Crowley taking on his trademark intensity. He strolled to where the demon was sitting, on the other side of his oak desk, hands casually placed on his pockets, that ridiculous coat flying behind as he walked closer, in way that was almost enthralling. Or entirely. Crowley was too tired to be able to tell which.

The ramrod straightness of Castiel's posture and the unconsciously proud tilt of his chin let Crowley know, without a doubt, he had come straight from a battle. As he approached, the faint smell of blood, power, ashes and grace hit Crowley confirming his thoughts. Cas touched the top of leather armchair the demon was sitting on and peered down at him.

“You look stressed, Crowley.” Straight to the point, as always.

Crowley touched a hand to the angel’s hip gingerly, caressing it softly for a beat or two with his thumb, before growing bolder and applying the smallest amount of pressure that made Cas let himself be guided to sit on his lap. He cupped the angel’s face and kissed him slowly and deeply, feeling greedy when Cas opened easily to Crowley’s exploration, letting his hand travel from Castiel’s face to burry itself on the tempting softness of his dark hair. Only once Crowley’s thirst had been quenched somewhat that they parted.

“You still haven’t told me, what’s the matter. How can I fix it, if I don’t know?” 

Sure, Castiel could be an asshole as the best of them. But he also he could be the most stubborn, endearing little thing. Crowley smiled in spite of himself. The hand that was still secure on Cas’ hip travelled down to his flank, thigh and up again. Crowley brushed their lips together, almost chaste, almost gentle.

“Don’t you know? You already are, sweetheart.”

Castiel pulled back and his face did that scrunched up thing, as thought he’d been hanging out with cats without Crowley’s knowledge and picking up on their expressions. This one was meant to show skepticism. His next words proved him right.

“I doubt kissing is doing much to solve your problems.” He stroked a hand up Crowley’s chest and tentatively touched his stumbled cheeks.

“Do you doubt your kissing skills, love? I could write you a reference any time.” Castiel looked up at the ceiling in an exasperated way and Crowley ignored it in order to kiss the enchanting line of his throat, immersing himself in the angel’s heady scent.

***

Of course, back then, the Cas’ own idea of falling apart was using Crowley’s safe houses as a haven; indulging himself in sex, food, alcohol and, especially, sleep. It was tame by most standards and, unfortunately, the future would reveal that period would be tame for even Castiel’s standards.

As it was, Cas went from being annoyingly difficult to convince to make an appearance to getting in the habit of surprising Crowley already waiting for him, after a long day. There were times Crowley almost missed those visits entirely, when, he’d arrive at home late enough that there would be an angel in his bed, wrapped in his blankets and seemingly sound asleep. A good chunk of day’s stress would lift instantly at the lovely picture he always presented and the King of Hell felt the rest slip away as he undressed and curled behind the meditating angel.

“Everything will be alright, Castiel.” He’d murmur low in his ear. “We will win. You’ll see. We’ll win.”

Through the hand he had splayed neatly on top of faint scar lines on the angel’s chest, Crowley felt Cas inhale sharply.

“Extra scruffy. Just how you like it, love.” Crowley whispered rubbing his stubbly chin on the delicate skin of Cas’ shoulder, drawing goosebumps.

Castiel would express just how much he liked it by turning around and straddling the King of Hell.

***

Some mornings, Crowley would wake up first. Those were rare, though. Cas tended to fall sleep whatever position he’d pass out from their fucking, unless Crowley actually moved him around to a more comfortable position, which most often than not included cuddling. In the last round of the night before (or early morning), Crowley had had him on his knees and he’d woken up to Cas lying on his front, facing away from him. His hand had been resting between the angel’s shoulder blades in an unconsciously possessive manner.

Crowley catalogued all the places where he ached, from strained muscles to where surely blood had been draw from. The King of Hell let out a big satisfied sigh and amused himself by tickling Castiel’s calves with his big toe, before taking full advantage of the angel’s glorious bed hair, running his hand through it, ruffling it even more with deliberate possessiveness and, then, he went back to sleep.

Some mornings, they both started moving around on the bed, at the same time, neatly on the respective sides like an old married couple. They’d mumble their way through their plans for the day, bicker about whether Growley should or should not be allowed on their bed – guess who actually wanted the damn hellhound there? One hint: it wasn’t Crowley—and argue about who should get up to put the kettle on.

Most often than not, they’d settle for morning sex and no tea.

Those wore good mornings. Not so good mornings were the ones that, for instance, Crowley would reach for an empty side of the bed. Thankfully, by the time these sleepovers were becoming the norm the angel actually had absorbed enough sense that he wouldn’t leave as thought he was a one night stand on their way to a walk of shame. Crowley would first get a peek of a steaming mug of tea waiting for him on his bedside –because the angel was far from a fool, no matter how much he got off on playing the clueless act-- and then he’d catch sight of Castiel moving around, attempting to locate his clothes. Crowley would sip his tea and watch him until he was coherent enough to start bitching about the angels' lack of respect for non-business hours.

He’d eventually get up to help Cas with his tie, because he was absolutely hopeless at that, and kiss him goodbye, while deliberately avoiding thinking about the fact that it could actually be a real goodbye each time Castiel went upstairs.

Fuck that. Crowley had not signed up to be anyone’s army wife.

***

All good things must come to an end.

That was a shitty saying and there wasn’t a part of Crowley that felt anywhere near zen about the reality of those damned Winchesters back in the picture and absolutely ruining everything he had built. But it was the phrase that came to Crowley’s mind when he thought back to that year.They still had each other’s back. Mostly. Crowley went above and beyond in trying help Castiel remain the good Cas, the righteous Cas to those knuckleheads, going as far as to present himself as the one who had gotten the Moose out of hell.

So if actually forcing the Winchesters to work for him wasn’t part of them plan. Cas and Crowley had their biggest fight up until that point because of that and the King of Hell eventually had decided to back off. It’s just wasn’t worth the headache. Of course, an elaborate scheme in order to free them was necessary and by faking Crowley’s death they’d killed two rabbits with  one stone: they’d freed Cas’ precious boys and got them to back the hell off. So Crowley and Cas could go back to trying to save their damned world in peace.

Crowley hadn’t backed off without a price, though. He had one condition to go along with Castiel’s plan: that he stopped being the errand boy to those denim wrapped nightmares. He wasn’t blind. He could see how distracted and conflicted Cas had become as soon he had went back to having nights out with the boys and that made him nervous. Cas’ doubts could potentially ruin everything and Crowley couldn’t afford that. They had worked too hard, sacrificed too much and he’d, especially, spent too many hours buried elbow deep in monster gut. Crowley refused to back down now.

And there was no way he would lose Castiel as well. He’d do whatever it took, to keep him. Despite how obnoxiously stupid he’d been of late.

Unsurprisingly, Castiel didn’t hold his part of their deal for long, not with those meatheads calling on him to kiss their booboos every time they stubbed their toes. More than that, the angel screwed up, badly. Eve was their best lead to Purgatory’s location and his damned pets succeeded in killing her.

Almost immediately after that, Crowley’s little birds caught the rumors that the Winchesters were on his trail, again. It just kept getting better and better. It was just fantastic, really. Even knowing it was of no use, he actually begged for Castiel to kill those idiots. The angel had as much to lose as Crowley did and he hoped all the work they’d done had meant half as much to him as it did to the demon. It didn’t, though. Castiel remained resolute in double dipping: he’d continue to play the guardian angel to his boys while keeping them off Crowley’s back.

And that essentially left Crowley no other choice. He was done being an angel’s bitch. He was done indulging Cas’ ridiculous lie. It was becoming more than clear Cas had no faith in their plan.

Or in them.

He held on so tightly to the Winchesters because as long they believe their innocent little angel hadn’t changed then Castiel got to believe it too. Crowley had no patience for denial though, especially when he saw what he was doing to the angel’s mental health. The sooner he faced the facts and accepted he was no longer a hunter’s sidekick, the sooner they could move on from this awful place, complete the final lap and win their prize.

Castiel didn’t take well to Crowley’s little reality check, though. And perhaps he could have phrased it better and not called him a whore outside of the context of their bedroom, but he was furious and any regret he might have felt soon vanished when Castiel pushed him against a wall, in an uncanny reminder on their first night together, and told Crowley in no uncertain terms to whom his true allegiance belonged. And just how willing he was to destroy everything they had become, everything they had built, everything, if Crowley touched a hair on Sam and Dean’s heads.

Well, then.

So nice to see how much he was appreciated.

***

Still, foolishly, Crowley had hoped. He had hoped against hope that Castiel would come to his senses and would stop being such a fucking idiot. That he’d realize who was in fact fighting so hard to keep him while he was holding on to people who treated him no better than one would treat a slave. The past year had made it clear to him the Winchesters only knew one way to do things and that way entailed using people and Crowley had a horrible feeling that, when it came to Castiel, they didn’t care enough to stop until the angel had met a horribly bloody end.

One would think Crowley would have identified the irony of those thoughts then, considering his and Castiel’s plan wasn’t exactly what you would call risk free, but he was too busy swooping in to save the angel and taking satisfaction out of the fact Sam and Dean were all too happy to prove his point, that they were only interested in using Cas and holding him back so he wouldn’t grow out of being their trusted sidekick.

And apparently they were interested in a very toasted sidekick.

Assuming that being trapped in holy fire by his so called friends was enough to knock some sense into Castiel’s head, Crowley went on to try and get him to focus again on their plans. Not all was lost. They could still do this. They could still fix it. Castiel was having none of it, though, the pig-headed fool. Only much later, Crowley realized his parting words weren’t rhetoric. He could barely conciliate his Castiel, his lover, with…this. All they’d shared and the angel was ready to disregard everything, over and over again. Frankly, he felt like the biggest fool in the galaxy for actually buying into his award winning act.

For actually believing that he’d actually—

***

It was a matter of pride at this point. Dean Winchester was to blame for every horrid thing that had happened and Crowley knew the perfect way to get him to stand down. He had stolen what was his and Crowley would pay him back the same way. Not that he truly believed kidnapping the ex-lady friend and the non-kid was anywhere the same level of offense as Dean had done to him, but it was short notice, so Crowley had to make do with what he had at hand.

For now, it would be enough to get the fop-coiffed little heroes busy scouring the earth and, therefore, away from him and Cas. Even if Castiel had the gall to play the wounded spouse because Crowley had left him in the dark, Crowley had still respected their agreement to not harm the Winchesters. He was just exploring the obvious loophole in their arrangement and not even Cas could force him to reveal their location. Nor would he be able to get Crowley to do anything he wanted, ever again. He had pushed him too far one too many times. And Crowley was not a demon you would want on your bad side.

***

Wonders never seemed to cease.

Just when he thought everything was on their merry way to a big and messy disaster, they scored one for the home team and got Bobby Singer’s lady monster friend to fall right in their laps with the formula for opening Purgatory’s door, no less. Crowley and Cas even bonded a bit over torturing the bitch. It was nice. Made him feel nostalgic for simpler times, when it was just the two of them. And when Cas had been the one to extract the most important piece of information, Crowley felt strangely proud. It wasn’t unlike how he felt back when Cas managed to play the Winchesters perfectly and make them fall for their ruse of Crowley’s death.

He had taught the angel so much and he was such a _good student_. It was Castiel’s potential for greatness, really, that kept Crowley unable to completely give up on him, even after everything. Crowley’s spirit felt lighter for the first time in ages as he served Cas the Purgatory “powershaker”. Maybe this entire mess would prove to be worth it, after all.

“Thank you.” The angel said even graver than usual, pretty much setting off every one of Crowley’s instincts all at once.

Crowley remained calm though. There was no way Castiel would dare—

Oh, he would.

He would dare to completely screw Crowley over, renegotiating their contract so Crowley would get nothing, not one little soul and he still threatened to kill him if he didn’t choose to flee. Crowley had always been aware of Castiel’s capacity to be a magnificent bastard. Still, not even him saw this betrayal coming. It was like he had been receiving way too many blows lately because his initial reaction to the angel double-crossing him was to feel numb and think up the next course of action.

The panicked look in Castiel’s face when Raphael popped up almost made it all worth it as it did repeating his threat right back – flee or die. But then, it would turn out, Cas already had already gotten a leg over all of them. He’d succeeded in exchanging the vase and really, considering Crowley had to spell this out to his newly acquired partner, no wonder he was off his game.  He couldn’t help but admire the little shit though.

Even then.

It probably helped that Castiel's new and improved incarnation came with double the sex appeal. Damn. All that talk about what it felt to have those souls inside him didn’t help Crowley’s concentration. He decided to leave the premises before he embarrassed himself.

Only later, Crowley would understand that Castiel’s protests that Raphael would deceive and destroy him at the speed of a thought, wasn’t just him being a self-righteous little prick. No. Castiel had _plans_ for him.

Cas had succeeded in completely terminating every friendship he had (even going as far as literally terminating a good friend, if the rumors he heard about the euro trash angel were true).  And he was interested in only taking Crowley along, for the ride, whether he wanted it or not. Really, if Crowley wasn’t being bent over and getting ass ridden all the way to the sun by a mad God wearing his angel’s face, he might have been more inclined to admit he was a shade impressed with the elegant brand of “careful what you wish for” punishment that was being inflicted upon his person. As it was, he was getting ass reamed without even the courtesy of a flat surface so he agreed to help the Winchester’s suicidal plan to stop Godstiel and gave them a way to bind death.

Fuck his life.

***

Putting up with that twat Dick Roman’s humiliating rejection of his offer of an alliance was a decent sample of what kind of year Crowley was having. He had been the one to find the way to open the door to Purgatory, after all, which allowed the bastards leviathans to roam the earth freely. Surely that entailed some sort of measure of respect?

Apparently not.

He was honestly baffled at Dick’s violent rebuff. Crowley had used his newly acquired posture of doing business and everything. He had recently decided straight talk was the way to go. No more ass-kissing or ego stroking, after that mess with Castiel. He’d done it so much with that one he even started to believe his own bullshit. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that complimenting and praising the angel had come far too easy for him and since that failed attempt with Raphael to recreate the same alliance, any time he attempted a good old fashioned seduction in order to seal a particularly trying business deal, the words had tasted like ashes on his mouth.

It didn’t have anything to do with Castiel. At all.

So “cutting to the chase” was Crowley’s new party line. Also: boundaries. No more mixing business and pleasure. Business hours were business hours and Crowley’s personal time was his own. And they remained firmly separate.

Of course, he didn’t have much personal time to speak of lately. He had to work double time to build back his reputation after the fact that he was double-crossed by an angel got out. Even Crowley’s vanity took a hit as he found himself sporting a scruffy look most often than not and no interest in remedying it. As for Crowley’s wardrobe…He’d always favored a more somber look, demon and all. But anyone who knew the King of Hell before the Godstiel debacle would be able to notice his new entirely black style or lack thereof.

Of course, no one was crazy enough to inquire about it or even hint the fact that, nowadays, he presented the perfect picture of someone in mourning. It was ironic, really. For someone who once prided himself in forcing others to face the part of themselves they didn’t want to face and who scoffed at denial, Crowley had become just as cowardly about facing his feelings after getting his heart broken, as the rest of the masses.

Oddly enough, his moment of catharsis came shortly after bumping into Sam and Dean Winchester again. Following his meeting with the smuggest tub of goo since Mussolini, Crowley had ordered all demons to stay clear of those meatheads’ way in order to allow them to clean the house of those leviathan pests.

Months later, he had received word about a crossroad demon that was playing fast and loose with his deals which had led him to them. The Giraffe apparently had gotten engaged in the meantime and the Squirrel was more annoying than ever. Crowley articulated his sentences very slowly in order to make himself clear to them about his stand against the Leviathan and his desire to make an example out of the stupid, shortsighted little prat that didn’t get the one rule: make a deal. Keep it. He reminded Crowley of another shortsighted little prat who screwed him six ways to Sunday and stomped all over his heart.

Why was it so hard to find someone with integrity, these days?

He took Guy straight to Hell and, eagerly, strapped him to the rack. As Crowley went through his entire collection of toys, taking his time in using each one on the miserable bastard, he experience the first surge of excitement for anything for the first since that damned angel had walked into a lake and drowned. The whole thing felt revigorating and for a few hours Crowley felt like a young demon that had just picked up his first blade. Up until Guy decided to be a drag and leave the party early, that is. Not without saying his last peace thought, which came in the form of a question: who’s Castiel?

Oh. How embarrassing. Crowley had called someone else’s name in the throes.

***

Turns out having Castiel back was more painful than being without him. And no, there was nothing to prevent that truly embarrassing thought for coming to life thanks to the intense torture-therapy program Crowley had gotten into that supposedly should be helping him deal with his issues. It was still the only thing that made him feel anything at all these days, though.

Crowley was struggling to recall how that was a good thing as he caught the Hardy Boys harboring the one angel he wanted to crush between his teeth. The whole thing was confusing as hell. Why was that whore Meg there? Shouldn’t Castiel be dead? Had he been alive this whole time? Oh, and, why, why was he sticking up for that disgusting stain? Those questions completely slipped from Crowley’s mind, however, when the angel started babbling about insects and honey and miracles. Oh, forgive him: talking about preferring insects to angels, apparently.

Cas pulled a bag of honey from his friggin’ overcoat’s pocket and started waving it around at Crowley’s face, talking about how it was a token of sorts and that he’d collected it himself. He, then, fixed his pretty blues eyes at Crowley’s face, expectantly.

Crowley had no words.

He looked over Cas’ shoulder to find Dean, anyone, who would make sense of this. The angel was off his rocker. He was well and truly off his rocker. Crowley stared at him with ill-disguised terror. He needed a drink. He needed to leave, get as far away as possible from him, now! Crowley busied himself with briefing the boys on his and Dick’s little meeting and didn’t waste the opportunity to throw a dig at his last business partner when Dean started whinning about why they should trust that the blood was actually Crowley’s.

Cas actually looked bothered at hearing he taught Crowley he should trust no one. It wasn’t entirely accurate, of course. Crowley had learned that little lesson a long time ago, it was just that damn angel who had gotten past his defenses. Still, it got the job done. Before finally taking his leave, Crowley threatened Meg and if the conclusions he took in regards her and Cas’ relationship were wrong, he didn’t care. They just strengthened his resolve, to be honest.

Initially, his plan had involved getting rid of Sam and Dean as well as Dick, and all his troubles once and for all. The Moose was in luck, though. With the angel’s timely return not only it made killing Dick Roman a more doable endeavor but it allowed Crowley to take a page out of Godstiel’s book and punish Castiel with a brand of “careful with what you wish” for of his own.

Back then, he had wanted all of Purgatory’s souls for himself, hadn’t he? Well, he could have Purgatory. Castiel had destroyed everything him and Crowley build because of that plaid wearing squirrel. So Cas and his little boyfriend could have Purgatory all to themselves until the end of time.

Not having to face what the angel had become and thus having to ask himself how much of a hand he had in making him that way was just a bonus.

Honest. Just a bonus.

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the lyrics of "Unaffected" by Hoobastank.


End file.
